Waiting for the Oak King



	Centennial Park
	   a dark corner
	   my back to a tree
	Streetlights and turnsignals
	   and towers that blink red in the night
	   distract
	I move deeper into the wood
	   and seek a better tree


	Kiddie swings hang silent from the post
	   four carousel horses
	No children divert their eyes with laughter
	No sudden shrieks of play
	   so they look 
	   and look
	   at me
	From the corner of my eye
	I see the white horse stalk
	   malevolent hooves and sinister breaths
	   snap twigs to my left
	I look up
	There it stands
	pale and damned
	   on the swing 
	   it hasn't left
	   all night

	The earth
	unreal beneath my feet
	   despite the dew they collect
	   warm
	   and call their own
	I don't belong here
	   not now
	   where are the children
	   why aren't they swinging

	Shivers trace my spine
	shatter the silence of ghost stares
	waiting
	to swing some more
	I flee



	Stones set in the earth step down and cross the stream
	vines entwine around the rails
	and reach down to dark water
	A breeze dishevels my hair
	then disappears back toward the swings
	I do not follow
	but try to leave ghosts behind
	Sticks snap beneath my feet
	the stream runs beside



	Swinging and thinking
	I paint shadows onto pines with a flashlight
	Book and pen
	tapes and keys
	lie by bars grounded in the earth below
	There is no moon

	Racing thoughts
	I swing some more
	and lose myself in the motion of trees and stars
	I cannot find their familiar lines
	I look
	but Orion hides
	waiting for the Oak King